


About a Cat

by SpacePunkStevie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, There is a cat, lbr this is me writing, the brooklyn boys are kids, there is always a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4287711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpacePunkStevie/pseuds/SpacePunkStevie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this because I wanted a story about Bucky meeting Steve that doesn't involve a fight in an alley, so this is thirteen-year-old Bucky trying to be much more like the adventurers in the books he's read that he actually is. He's not very good at it, but he's trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About a Cat

This, despite the slightly misleading title, is not a story about a cat. However, before you close out of this story in disappointment, you should note that it does have a cat in it. It also has a flashlight and some rooftops, but those aren’t what this story is about, either.

This story is about the most important day in the life of James Buchanan Barnes, though he didn’t know it at the time.

Freshly thirteen years old and trying slightly too hard to live up to his newly acquired title of “teenager”, James stumbled into the new decade the same way that many people did; wide-eyed and struggling to come to terms with the damage that history had just done to his fortunes. His thirteenth birthday was spent sitting on boxes in his family’s tiny new apartment building in the middle of Brooklyn. He was trying, in order to live up to his idea of what teenager-hood should be, not to pout. He knew what the Depression was, but that didn’t mean he had to like his new home.

His parents were trying, but they had yet to get used to not having money, and his presents were small and few. It was one of them, the shiny new flashlight that he clutched as his mother talked about how old he’d gotten and his father nodded in agreement, that would be so important a few weeks later when he reached the most important day of his life.

The other thing that lead to that day was the cat. The young James Barnes first came across it the day after he acquired the flashlight. It was a beautiful creature; small, in sleek golden brown with scattered black markings and black socks. It was sleeping in a graceful circle on his pillow when he came into his room, breathing slowly as its tail twitched gently. He closed the door as softly as he could, but still one bright eye opened, watching him warily as he stepped closer. Another step and it unwound itself from its position until it was ready to spring away if he came too close. Still moving gingerly forward in the cramped room, James held out one hand for an inquisitive sniff. He wasn’t sure what information could be gleaned through smell, but apparently the cat didn’t detect any unpleasant motives because it nudged his hand with its head and allowed him to pat it while it returned, purring, to its slumber.

His parents said it was the neighbours’ cat, though which neighbours it belonged to they were unsure. No one he had asked- carefully casual- in passing seemed to know. It was “the neighbours’ cat” to every neighbour he spoke to. Meanwhile the cat kept returning, sleeping on his pillow until he would show up, then shifting its warm weight into his lap to purr as he stroked it. Then dusk would settle into darkness and the cat would slink away. But James had a flashlight, and James was the sort of boy for whom that was a profound acquisition.

He wasn’t actually called Bucky, not yet, but he knew the name. It was lodged in his mind as more his name than his actual name. It was the name of the person that he wasn’t quite just yet, but dearly wanted to be. The sort of person who needed a flashlight, the sort of person who went out and had adventures. Yeah, Bucky Barnes was a good name for that sort of person.

The problem was that the boy James, for whatever he was trying to be, was also something else. Sensible. It was something parents were always proud to announce to other parents- he’s a Sensible Boy- but not something that would be considered a positive trait by him or his contemporaries until years later when he was no longer a teenager. It certainly wasn’t what he was going to be remembered for, and this was something he had already begun to suspect, but for now he couldn’t help but feel bitter whenever he heard the phrase. He didn’t want to be a Sensible Boy, he wanted to be an adventurer.

But Sensible he was, unwilling to go out in search of his own adventures, and as such doomed to spend the rest of his life waiting for one to happen to him. Except, of course, that he had a flashlight. And there was a cat out there that must belong to someone.

And so, a few weeks later and after much too meticulous planning, the most important day in the life of James Buchanan Barnes passed without anything remarkable happening. He wished his parents a good night and waited for the twitch in the cat’s ears that started as it prepared to rise from its rest and vanish. James opened the window wider this time, as the fingers of one hand wrapped around the flashlight. He had been planning to slip coolly into the night to begin his pursuit.

Despite this intention, he could hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears as he crept to the window and scrambled out. He was breaking rules. He was disobeying his parents. Moreover, he was doing something outside of his safe routine and therefore something to be avoided. Maybe he should go back inside, do it some other night…

Years from now he would be so, _so_ glad that at that point he hit his shin hard against the window sill. Refraining from swearing by only by biting down on his lip, he stumbled out into the warm evening darkness.

The cat was still there, watching him with what he thought may be the feline equivalent of concern, and he decided that he’d already probably broken something (he hadn’t) and may as well see this through.

So, with the drama reigniting in his youthful heart, he turned on his flashlight and limped along the wide ledge and into what his imagination painted as his own film noir.

The cat, graceful as ever, crossed the gap between the ledge and the fire escape and glanced behind at James. He was starting to think that he was being allowed to follow. Shin still throbbing, he climbed upwards with all the hush and speed he could manage. He was, at least, Sensible enough to make sure he avoided shining the flashlight into the windows he passed.

His jacket was starting to seem a little thin as the last lingering heat of the day dissipated. A single slow car passed through the ill-lit street and he realised that he was much higher than he had expected. The cat kept climbing, until they were three, two floors below the roof.

And then, yes, he’d reached the top of the building. He wasn’t allowed up here, he knew well. His parents had made that abundantly clear. But once again, he’d made it this far, he may as well keep going.

The cat jumped to the next building.

James Barnes was still a Sensible Boy, and a Sensible Boy would turn around and clamber back to the warmth and safety of his bed. But a Sensible Boy wouldn’t have followed a cat onto the roof of a building after dark in the first place and besides, he had a flashlight. Maybe for tonight he could be Bucky Barnes.

So he put one foot on the ledge and planted the other firmly behind him, swaying backwards and forwards in preparation. It wasn’t that far. It wasn’t that far. It wasn’t-

‘Are you really going to jump?’

What in the-

He spun the flashlight towards the sound of the voice and suddenly he was looking at a small, wide-eyed boy sitting on the ledge of the opposite roof, about five yards to the right, and feeding meat to the cat. Bucky guiltily removed his foot from the ledge.

‘No.’

‘It looked like you were going to jump.’

Bucky walked along his side of the roof until he was in line with the strange boy, then reached a decision, ‘Yes, actually,’ he said, savouring the foreign daring implied in those words, ‘I was going to jump. I wanted to get to the other roof.’

He was, in his mind, some dramatic detective, searching for the truth on the rooftops of New York City long after the ordinary people had gone to bed. It was, of course, barely nine-thirty, and most people were still at the contemplative stage of retiring for the night. But that was beside the point. He had a flashlight.

‘Why?’ the boy asked.

Because there was a cat. No, that didn’t sound right. That didn’t sound like something Bucky Barnes would say.

‘Is that your cat?’

There was a pause.

‘I’m Steve.’ said Steve.

‘Er.’

An expert interrogator this young Bucky was not, but his budding adventurer’s mind was detecting the faint possibility that this Steve was avoiding his question.

Different tact, ‘Why are you on the roof?’

Another pause.

‘Why are _you_ on the roof?’

 _I was convinced by the existence of a flashlight to sneak out of my bedroom in pursuit of a mysterious cat._ Maybe not. _I have read far too many adventure stories to be satisfied with my role as a Sensible Boy and decided to stalk a domestic feline in the absence of any real mystery to solve._ No, that didn’t work either.

Bucky sat on the ledge on his side of the chasm and said ‘I am… I’m Bucky.’

‘Is that a fake name?’ the wide-eyed boy asked.

‘No!’ he said, a little too defensively, ‘Why would you think it’s a fake name?’

Steve shrugged, annoyingly dispelling some of the drama of this clandestine meeting, ‘You seemed like you had to think about it. Most people don’t have to think about their names. They tend to know them quite well, see?’

‘Well, most people call me James.’ Bucky admitted, ‘But I prefer Bucky. It’s a shortened version of my middle name. Buchanan.’

‘You’re lucky.’ Steve said, with gratifying envy, ‘I wish I could be called by my middle name, but it’s “Grant”.’ –he screwed his nose up in distaste- ‘Anyway, I’m twelve. How old are you?’

Bucky, half-unconsciously, straightened his back as he answered proudly, ‘Thirteen.’

Steve began swaying his legs out absently into the dark open space between them, and back, letting his heels bounce off the wall in a gesture of young pensiveness, and muttered, ‘I don’t think you should let people call you James if you don’t want to be.’

From this height Bucky couldn’t see the grime and rubbish scattered on the dark concrete. The buildings’ walls dropped away into the darkness that the filter of his imagination warped into a fathomless void. And enveloping the boys and the cat and the flashlight and the city of New York was another void, littered with bright, unattainable worlds. This stranger was the only person in the universe that knew that he was here right now.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t.’ he replied quietly, kicking his own legs out into the unobserved night. Head tilt, change the subject, ‘What’s with the cat?’

Steve’s expression changed from calm contemplation in a heartbeat to anxiously biting his lip. His eyes were just as wide as they had ever been, like he was seeing the whole world in exquisite detail and it was all slightly too big, but now it seemed more like fear than perpetual astonishment. Still, he didn’t answer.

‘You’re on the roof in the middle of the night,’ Bucky pressed. At thirteen years of age, nine thirty was close enough to the middle of the night as makes no difference, ‘feeding a cat that no one seems to own.’

Steve was holding the cat closer to himself as with every word, as if he was worried that at any moment Bucky would cross the void and snatch it from his protective grasp. The silence held out for a few long seconds before the younger child finally mumbled, ‘Don’t tell my mom.’

‘I won’t.’ Bucky promised solemnly, though Steve didn’t yet relax.

‘I couldn’t let him starve.’

This was also the most important day in the life of Steven Grant Rogers. Years later a government-appointed celebrity would finally get his chance to fight like he did in his films and a US soldier would be saved from a prisoner of war camp with hundreds of others like him because of this day. Years later one hero would become immortal and another would promise revenge because of this day. Years and years later a ghost would pull his enemy to safety from a river because of this day.

‘I don’t think he’s anyone’s cat.’ Steve continued, in a bit of a rush, ‘But he was hungry, so I come-up-here-every-night-to-feed-him. Buthe’snotereallymycat.’

He went back to biting his lip. Bucky resisted the urge to laugh; brave adventurers tracing mysterious felines to their sort-of-not-really owners didn’t laugh at stories like that.

‘I really won’t tell anyone.’ he promised again, and finally Steve relaxed, ‘So why does he show up in my room sometimes?’

‘I guess he just likes you.’ Steve suggested, and Bucky did a very poor job of trying not to smile.

‘What’s his name?’

Steve shrugged, ‘I don’t know, it’s not my cat to name. But maybe I should give it one. I can’t just keep referring to it as “the cat”.’

There was about half a minute of muted contemplation. Bucky scuffed his heel against the wall and hoped that he wouldn’t have to admit to his new friend that his normally lively imagination had failed him.

‘I like the name James…’ Steve said tentatively, ‘I mean, if you don’t mind him borrowing it?’

It was certainly a better name than Fluffy or Mittens, which was the avenue down which Bucky’s mind was headed, ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘I’m not really using it.’

Steve beamed, and Bucky grinned back at him across the void. James butted his head impatiently against his (sort-of-not-really) owner’s hand until he was being petted once again.

The still air made Bucky shiver. He was starting to see his breath rising into the silver-webbed sky.

‘Do you come up here every night?’

James was starting to purr as Steve scratched him behind his ears, ‘Yeah. I don’t want to let him go hungry.’

‘Do you mind if I come back tomorrow night? I have to get back now.’

If either of the boys felt the echo of destiny travelling backwards through the years, they didn’t let on. Maybe the kind boy and the Sensible Boy weren’t adventurers in their own right, but together they were all of the stories that Bucky had wanted to be.

‘Of course.’ Steve said, with another smile, and Bucky couldn’t help but return it, ‘Night.’

‘Night.’


End file.
